


Beneath Ice and Stone

by mercaque



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elder Scrolls Fusion, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Dwemer Ruins, F/M, M/M, One Shot, Spoilers - Skyrim Main Quest, Spuhura, chulu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercaque/pseuds/mercaque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had no special calling to try to stop the rise of the dragons.  They were not Dragonborn, nor were they equipped with skills above and beyond any other adventurer.  Uhura and Spock were mere scholars of the arcane, devotees of Julianos.  All they had was their intellect, their access to dragonlore, and the determination to try.</p>
<p>After three quarters of a year spent chasing down dead ends and evading Thalmor assassins, they’ve finally come close to an answer, secreted away in the deepest chambers of Alftand.  But another pair of adventurers threatens to interfere.  </p>
<p>Skyrim AU, one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath Ice and Stone

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers for the main questline in Skyrim. Some basic familiarity with the game/setting of the Elder Scrolls series is needed, although I’ve tried to write it so things make sense in context as much as possible.

Alftand.  A massive Dwarven city, long abandoned and devoid of any life, wedged into a glacier in the far northeast of Skyrim.  The ancient – now extinct – Dwemer race had burrowed their city so deep it went down through the enormous layer of ice and far into the earth. 

The ruins were massive, and Uhura knew she and Spock had a long and dangerous exploration ahead of them.

But no matter how long or dangerous, Uhura had no intention of turning back.  An Elder Scroll lay at the bottom of these ruins.  Her fingers all but tingled with the anticipation of unfurling it.  And far more important than her scholarly curiosity, the scroll could be the key to stopping the dragons that had returned to populate the skies of Tamriel.  

She glanced over at Spock, at the Elven angles of his face, which were set in an almost meditative calm.  Though Spock rarely gave away his feelings, Uhura knew he shared her relief that they were finally here. 

It had been a long, long journey.  They had met as master and student in the faraway desert city of Sentinel, where Spock had sought asylum from the cruel Thalmor government in his father’s homeland, and Uhura’s parents had enrolled her in magical studies in the hopes of keeping her out of danger.  No such luck.  She and Spock had pursued every scrap of dragonlore they could find after the great beasts began to appear in the sky again.  Their investigation had taken them across the continent: to the Imperial City’s ancient magical university, to the civil war-ravaged Skyrim, to an infiltration of the Thalmor Embassy that had nearly ended in both their deaths. (Spock, whose blood was only _half_ Elven, had sealed his reputation as a highly threatening dissident, and now had a kill-on-sight order by the Thalmor.)  But they had gained the information they needed, which had brought them to the glacial plain of Winterhold in northeastern Skyrim, and now finally here to the ruins of Alftand.

Only to discover – judging by the trail of broken Dwemer automatons – that someone had apparently gotten to these ruins _first._

“Curious,” said Spock, kneeling down over the fourth wrecked automaton in a row they had encountered. “The animunculi appear to have been stripped of parts.  Even the oil has been harvested.”

“Whoever’s ahead of us, they know what they’re doing.”  Uhura crouched down as well, her finger running over the charred metal.  “This isn’t the work of your average muscle-for-hire.”

“Indeed not,” Spock said.  “These burns are from high level destruction magic.”

Uhura looked up.  “Could the Thalmor be involved?”

Spock’s lips tightened.  “If they are, they are close.  These magical burns are still slightly warm.”

“Then we’re not that far behind,” Uhura said.

“Indeed.  Our timing may be most fortunate,” Spock said.  “If we are trailing them, it will be easier to execute a surprise attack.” 

“Right.”  Uhura tapped at the crossbow attached to her back.  “Let’s hurry.”

They each cast a well-practiced noise-muffling spell on themselves, and proceeded in total silence through the ruined Dwemer city.

The ruins were so ancient, and so long-abandoned, that they had been partially eaten away by the glacier in which they were embedded.  Uhura and Spock traced a silent path down a corridor that was half-stone and half-ice.  Even the fully functioning steam pipes only melted the barest sheen of moisture on the glacial surface. 

Uhura shivered.  Her long black hair was tucked inside a mage’s hood, while her armor was flexible light leather.  It was short-sleeved, and her gloved gauntlets only came up slightly past her elbows.  Gooseflesh rose along the parts of her skin that were exposed to the frigid air.

“The cold does not bother you too badly, does it, Nyota?” Spock asked.  He, by contrast, was clad in a dark hooded mage robe, woven of thick enough material to protect him from the elements.

Uhura smiled to herself.  “I’ll be fine,” she said.  “The steam in those pipes is scalding hot.  The farther into Dwarven ruins you go, the more heat is trapped.  Part of the challenge of exploring these ruins back home in Hammerfell was the ability to endure it.”

Spock lifted one of his angular eyebrows.  “I shall bear that in mind as we progress.”

Indeed, as they moved deeper into the ruins, the icy parts receded, and the air grew a little warmer.  Uhura glanced around in recognition: _this_ was the type of Dwarven ruin she was accustomed to exploring.  Impossibly thick stone walls were cut through with metallic support beams, grates and vents, all of which were crafted from that strange bronze-colored metal the Dwemer had mastered.  Unnatural, pale green lights still burned, as they had been doing for centuries; and of course, the ancient machines still clanged and churned, and still pushed hot steam through the network of massive pipes. 

The corridors were otherwise lifeless, empty.  The animunculi – various machines the Dwemer had built to attack intruders – should have been roaming the corridors as well.  That would have at least given the illusion of life, albeit hostile life.  But as Uhura and Spock progressed, they found every single one broken and stripped of parts.

A bronze gate, hanging slightly open, caught her eye.  She placed a light hand to Spock’s arm, and his gaze followed hers.  The gate had been designed to close off a small alcove containing a storage box, one which likely held gems and gold and other precious items.  After a careful survey of their surroundings, Uhura approached and examined the gate, her gloved finger running over the broken latch. 

“This was a complicated lock,” she murmured to Spock.  “And I only see two or three broken picks on the ground.  Whoever picked this open knew what they were doing.”  She looked up, her eyes twinkling.  “Perhaps it’s the Thieves Guild we’re trailing.”

Spock permitted himself a wry smile.  “It would be preferable to the Thalmor, at least.”

“I don’t think the Thalmor would have stopped to pick a lock like this,” Uhura said, “but of course, you never know.”

“An individual’s capacity for greed can never be underestimated,” Spock replied, “but I concur with you that it is unlikely.”

Uhura pushed the gate closed, uncertain whether that was cause for optimism.  On the one hand, she hated the Thalmor, and the idea of them getting so close to an Elder Scroll was frankly terrifying.  On the other hand, she was at least _familiar_ with them, and the decision to ambush them would be very easy indeed. 

With caution, she and Spock continued on their path deeper into the ruins. All traces of ice and the outdoor cold air had vanished, and Uhura wrinkled her nose as she detected the familiar odor of Dwemer steam – a little dank, with a sharp note of mechanical grease.  That unnatural pale green light cast odd shadows, which seemed to seal the path behind them, discouraging them from turning back.

They had trailed through one small corridor and taken a left turn into another – passing a few more storage boxes that had been picked open and emptied – when an abrupt, high-pitched _clang_ echoed through the corridors.  It wasn’t the low rhythmic clanging of the Dwemer machines, but rather the sound of a sword striking metal.

Uhura came to a dead stop, at the same moment Spock placed a hand to her shoulder. 

“Sounds of combat,” Spock murmured.

She nodded.  “It seems we’ve caught up.”

In turn, Uhura and Spock readied themselves to enter the fight if necessary.  Spock lifted a hand, a lighting spell at his fingertips, while Uhura drew out her crossbow and loaded it. Together, they silently crept around the corner.

They discovered two young men in battle with a Dwemer automaton.  Uhura lowered her weapon in frank curiosity, watching the battle play out.

One of the men was taller, a dark-haired Imperial who bore a motley assortment of gear: light scaled armor like that of a Nord hunter, his sword a Redguard-style scimitar, his shield made of Elven metal.  The odd combination of gear suggested this fighter had no allegiance, and was perhaps a sellsword who simply used the best weapons and armor he had been able to scavenge.    

The second man was shorter, slimmer, and wore dark green mage robes.  He had light curly hair, which spilled over a jeweled circlet, and the snow-pale skin of a Nord.  He turned, in deep concentration as he summoned as magic spell, and Uhura startled to see how youthful his face appeared. 

The Dwemer sphere shot forward, unfurling a tall mechanical creature with violently swinging arms.  The attack would have frightened most fighters, but the two young men reacted with swift calm: the Imperial battered it with his sword and shield in close combat, while the Nord held his distance and blasted a torrent of lightning at the machine. They assumed their combat roles wordlessly, their strategy evidently very, very well practiced.  In only a matter of moments, the Dwemer machine went clattering to the floor in pieces.

Uhura glanced over at Spock.  They were close enough that they dared not speak, lest the sound of it give away their presence.  But the nod of his head, and the approving lift of his eyebrow, conveyed that Spock was similarly impressed by the two young men.

The Nord and the Imperial then knelt down over the broken automaton, picking through the scraps of metal.  The curly-haired mage tucked away the soul gem into his rucksack, while the dark-haired man ran a finger through the machine’s oil, then pressed a light taste to his lips.

“Hikaru!” chided the mage.  If his appearance had not identified him as a Nord, his extremely thick accent left no question. “I cannot believe you just taste it like that!”

“Why not?  It’s safe to consume,” replied the dark-haired Imperial, evidently named Hikaru.  “You don’t mind the oil when it’s in your magicka potions.”

The curly-haired Nord wrinkled his nose.  “Only because I try not to think about it.”

Hikaru chuckled. Even from a distance, his affection was very plain to hear. “You’re holding up all right, Pavel?” he said quietly.  He reached over a hand, cupping at the Nord’s – Pavel’s –  cheek.  “It’s been some time since we last rested.” 

“I am fine.  _You_ are the one loaded down with all that weaponry, you know.”  Pavel leaned into Hikaru’s touch, and kissed at his hand.  “Let’s keep going.”

The soldier and the mage finished stripping the Dwemer machine, then got up and hurried on their way. 

They were an odd pair, Uhura thought.  But then, the same could be said for herself and Spock. Her family was of ancient noble blood, of a Redguard clan that despised foreigners and upheld the old warrior ways.  That she had opted to study magic was scandalous enough, let alone that she had fallen in love with her half-Elven tutor. 

“Well,” she remarked once they were out of earshot.  “Those two certainly aren’t what I expected.”

“Indeed not.”  Spock lifted an eyebrow.  “They appear to be intimately involved, perhaps even bound before Mara.  Should we face them in battle, they will likely defend each other with extreme ferocity.”

“Why, Spock.”  Uhura pressed down on a smile.  “How romantic.”

“It is a mere statement of fact.  The instinct to protect a mate is observed in species across Tamriel, even among draugr and other undead beings.”  Spock spoke flatly, and had Uhura not known him so well, she would have missed the mild lift of his eyebrow, the twitch of his lips, that signalled he was teasing her.

“Far be it for me to argue with your extensive scholarship on the matter.”  Uhura tilted her head, thoughtful.  “There’s no chance those two are allied with the Thalmor.”

“Agreed.  The Thalmor would never send a Nord to retrieve anything of importance,” Spock said.  “They do not appear to be standard thieves, either.”

“Maybe they’re here for the same reason we are,” Uhura said.

Spock nodded.  “It would be most unfortunate if we are at cross purposes with them.”  
  
They continued moving forward, now especially careful not to make any noise, lest they attract the attention of these two other adventurers.  They followed the two young men at a distance, through one room and then another, watching as Pavel and Hikaru picked through seemingly every artifact in the ruins: Dwemer bowls, spoons, gears and urns were all carefully examined for value, and kept or discarded after brief murmured conversations.  
  
Uhura observed this process with a little smile.  Dwemer ruins were numerous in her home province of Hammerfell, and she’d been exploring them since she was young enough to sneak out of her parents’ manor.  During her earliest explorations, she’d been similarly fascinated by ancient Dwemer objects, but by now she barely noticed them.  So, she deduced, Pavel and Hikaru were either unusually obsessed with Dwemer objects, or they did not have a great deal of experience with them.

On the other hand, this Hikaru and Pavel were doing an excellent job of avoiding most of the ruins’ booby traps, mostly due to Pavel pulling at Hikaru’s arm, pointing and urgently warning him of any such areas he noticed.  So the mage at least knew well enough to be on guard for the notoriously deadly Dwemer traps, Uhura thought to herself.  She wondered if he had studied at the College of Winterhold, Skyrim’s isolated magical academy. 

In turn, Uhura and Spock were also able to avoid the traps by following the same path as Pavel and Hikaru, and tailed them all the way through Alftand’s upper chambers, until they came to a corridor that led to a massive bronze-colored door.  The door required both Pavel and Hikaru to push on it with all their strength to get it open, which Uhura and Spock observed from a safe distance.

“I presume that door leads to an area of some importance,” Spock murmured.

Uhura nodded.  “According to the historical accounts, Alftand contained a great Animonculory, an area where the Dwemer constructed their worker drones and their guardian automatons.  It was deliberately constructed as a series of high platforms, so that any automaton that got out of control could be pushed to its death.”

“Then our friends the adventurers may have more of a challenge on their hands,” Spock said. 

“Yes,” Uhura agreed.  “Let’s go.” 

Uhura and Spock hurried forward, through the great door.  They, too, had to push as hard as they could in order to open it.

Once through, they found another deserted hallway and more broken automatons.  Well, Hikaru and Pavel certainly weren’t wasting any time.  Uhura and Spock hurried through more stone corridors, with great bronze gates lining their way.  The pale light glinted off both the bronze gates and the steam-filled air, bright enough to make Uhura squint in places. 

They turned a corner, having reached the beginning of the area with high platforms, and came to a scene of chaos.

Pavel and Hikaru had fought off one of the Dwemer machines, only to be caught subsequently in a surprise attack.  A pair of twisted creatures – goblin-like beings, clad in chitinous helmets and armor, scraping guttural sounds of hatred from their throats – had also joined the fight, and were attempting to kill the two adventurers.  The battle took place on a thin stone platform, sloping downwards in a gentle circle.  A simple workshop entrance for the ancient Dwemer, but a precarious place for a fight.

“Falmer,” Uhura said, with a rare note of fear in her voice. 

“We should assist,” Spock said firmly.  He moved forward and cast a mage armor spell on himself, while Uhura unlatched her crossbow from her back and loaded a bolt.

They were too late.  One of the Falmer lifted a gnarled axe, ready to bring it down on Pavel’s head.  In response, Hikaru gave an angry shout, leapt forward, and jammed his scimitar into the creature’s throat. The second Falmer, wielding magic, shot a powerful blast of fire at Hikaru and caught him squarely in the chest.  The force of it sent him stumbling backwards, badly off balance, his arms flailing out in a futile attempt to grasp at something solid.

Then his foot slipped at the edge of the platform, and he disappeared off the side.

_“NO!”_ shrieked Pavel, a distraught howl that echoed through the massive stone chamber.  He went hurrying to the edge of the platform, oblivious to the magic-wielding Falmer that now advanced upon him.

This gave Spock an opening.  He blasted the advancing Falmer in the chest with a firebolt spell, causing the creature to stagger backwards. Uhura followed this with three quick, brutal shots from her crossbow.  The Falmer flew back, yowling, and went off the other side of the platform.  It was a long, long few seconds before they heard it strike anything solid.

Pavel turned on Spock and Uhura, wild-eyed and badly shaken by the fall of his Imperial companion.  “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but I won’t let you hurt him!”

_“Hurt_ him?” Uhura repeated.

“Your companion is still alive?” Spock asked.

Anger crossed the young Nord’s face.  “ _Yes,_ look for yourselves!  Who are you?  What do you want with us?”

Uhura peered over the side of the platform.  So the historical texts she’d read had been correct: this part of Alftand was a massive cavern, extending so far down into the earth it was impossible to see where it ended.  A series of spiraled stone platforms traced a path down through the abyss.  Hikaru had been lucky – _damned_ lucky – that he had not taken a fatal plunge all the way to the bottom.  Instead, he had landed on another part of the spiraling platform farther down.

It had still been a long drop, and Hikaru was visibly injured.  His face was pale and sweat-sheened, and Uhura glimpsed a pool of blood beneath him as he struggled to move.  Which explained why Pavel now faced them with such defensive fury.  His gloved hands were raised, and magicka crackled at his fingertips.

“Mage, please calm yourself,” Spock said.  “We have no intention of harming you or your companion.  Were that the case, we would have simply permitted the Falmer to kill you both.”

The logic of this registered with Pavel, who lowered his hands slightly, but still appeared suspicious.  “But why?” he demanded.  “Who are you?  Why would you help us?”

Uhura and Spock exchanged a glance.  “We are scholars from Hammerfell,” she said.  “Our interest in these ruins is academic.” 

That wasn’t _entirely_ true, but it wasn’t a lie either.  Pavel, however, narrowed his eyes.  “Why would you have an academic interest in Skyrim?  Aren’t there enough Dwemer ruins in Hammerfell for you to explore?”

Spock lifted an eyebrow.  “I see that you are well-studied.”

“That is not an answer to the question,” Pavel said.  “What are you doing here?”

Uhura held back a frustrated sigh.  This Nord was more obstinate than his boyish, wide-eyed appearance let on.

“We are seeking an artifact,” she said.  “We have no quarrel with you, and no interest in any other treasures that may be buried in these ruins.”

“What artifact?” Pavel demanded.

“We are not prepared to divulge that information,” Spock said.  “After all, we do not know _your_ purposes here.”

Pavel’s jaw worked, his large blue eyes flicking between Uhura and Spock defensively.  His hands came up again, slightly, as if he were again considering an attempt to fight them both off.

“We aren’t cutthroats,” Uhura said gently.  “We’re quite willing to assist you if it turns out your goals are compatible with ours.  Look,” she said, nodding at the side of the platform.   Below, Hikaru had located a healing potion among his belongings, and had recovered well enough to stagger to his feet.  “Your companion is walking.  We have spells and potions, and could hasten his recovery.”

“We have our own spells and potions,” Pavel said stubbornly.  Still, he risked a look over the side of the platform, and his face betrayed his anguish at how close his companion had come to death. “Hikaru,” he called.

Hikaru grunted sort of loudly in response, and made his way up the spiraling platform.  Despite a terrible limp, he moved quickly, and soon came to Pavel’s side.  His breath was ragged and his face betrayed the incredible pain he was in, and when Pavel placed an arm around his waist to support his weight, he drew a hissed breath at the touch.  Hikaru appeared to have landed hard on the right side of his body, as his sword-arm was mangled, and he hunched over to protect damaged ribs.  Some blood trickled down from his hairline. 

Even for all that, he flashed a defensive look at Spock and Uhura.

“They say they are scholars from Hammerfell,” Pavel murmured to Hikaru.

Hikaru nodded.  “What are your names?”

“I am Spock, and this is Uhura,” he said.  “And you?”

“I’m Hikaru Sulu, and this is Pavel Chekov.” Despite his poor condition, Sulu looked them both over carefully, sizing them up.  “Uhura.  That’s a Redguard clan name.  One of the noble houses, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Uhura said.  “You have some knowledge of Hammerfell?” 

“I used to be a sailor, and made port there many times.”  Sulu still did not appear satisfied.  “What’s your given name?”

Open irritation crossed her face.  Beside her, Spock repressed a wry look, as he knew how much she hated that question from strangers. 

“Nyota, if you must know,” she said.  “If you’re so familiar with my clan, then you’re aware we resisted the Thalmor invasion, and expelled them from our lands.  We are an honorable house, and our purpose here is similarly honorable.”

Chekov looked to Sulu questioningly, and Sulu nodded confirmation.  “I fought in that war as a mercenary,” he said, “on the Redguard side, of course.”

“Did you?” Uhura said in surprise.  It would explain why he used a scimitar, at least. “I owe you my thanks, then.”

“Not really,” Sulu replied.  “The Thalmor sacked my hometown in Cyrodiil during the Great War.  I just wanted a shot at revenge.”  His gaze went to Spock.  “I admit I’m curious that you’re traveling with an Altmer now.”

“Half Altmer,” Spock corrected him. “My mother is an Imperial. From Cyrodiil, as you are. I am a known dissident against the Thalmor government in my father’s homeland, and in fact, have an execution order against me.”  He reached into the folds of his robe, and drew out a letter.  “If you require substantiation, you may examine the writ yourself.”

Both Sulu and Chekov’s faces had drained in horror before Spock even unfolded the paper, and they exchanged a wide-eyed look.  A silent conversation seemed to pass between them, before Chekov reached out with a slight tremble in his hand, and took the writ.  He looked it over, his face going even more ashen, and then handed it back.  A deep, quiet anger darkened Sulu’s face.

“It is authentic,” Chekov said.  He finally lowered his hands completely, his shoulders sagging. “There is a Thalmor execution order against me as well.  I recognize it.”

_“You?”_ Uhura said in surprise.  He looked so young and innocent.  But then again, Chekov had been ready to challenge them both only a few moments earlier, so there was no telling what other fights he’d embroiled himself in.  “You must be associated with the Nord rebellion.  I could ask why you’re traveling with an Imperial.”

Sulu grunted a laugh at this, clearly able to appreciate that she had returned a variation of his own earlier question.  Then he immediately gasped in pain, pressing a hand to his ribcage.

“Hikaru,” Chekov cried in alarm, hooking an arm under him for support and helping him sink down to the stone floor.  “You are still hurt.”

Sulu nodded tightly.  “It’s… it’ll be OK.”

“Will you now allow us to assist you?” Spock said.  “Since we appear to have a common enemy, at least.”

Sulu and Chekov shared a look, before Sulu finally gave in and nodded.  Chekov, in turn, rose and stepped back.

“Thank you,” Sulu said.  “I’ll be in your debt.”

Spock lifted a gloved hand, his face serene as he summoned his magic.  A golden healing spell sprang from his palm, and Sulu was bathed in a similar golden light.  Chekov started forward, his eyes fixed attentively on the process, as if fearful that Spock’s healing spell would turn into destruction magic at any moment.

“Mage,” Uhura said gently, moving to stand beside him.  “Spock does not lie if he can avoid it.  If he pledged to heal your companion, he will do so to the best of his ability.”

Chekov glanced toward her briefly, before returning his attention to Spock and Sulu.  “I appreciate your reassurance,” he said.  Then he swallowed, and took a breath.  “To answer your earlier question, I am not involved in the rebellion.  Neither of us are involved in Skyrim’s civil war.  At least, not anymore.”

Uhura’s eyebrows went up.  “That’s an interesting answer.”

“It is a long story.”  Chekov crossed his arms. 

“I would imagine so,” Uhura said.  “To be perfectly honest, I don’t have much interest in Skyrim’s civil war, so your allegiances would make little difference to me.  Having grown up in a noble house, I’m weary of politics.”

This drew an eager nod from Chekov.  “I am also—” he said.  “My father is a member of the Nord nobility, but I prefer exploration and magical study.”  He let out a breath.  “I am sorry I was so hostile to you and Spock before.  You both did save me from that Falmer.”

“It’s all right,” Uhura said.  “Your caution is logical.  Spock and I have encountered our own share of treachery on our journey.”

“If the Thalmor are involved, I would imagine so,” Chekov said, and then admitted in a small voice: “I was arrested by them once.” 

Uhura sucked in a breath.  She had seen their torture chambers up close at the Thalmor Embassy.  “Their treatment of prisoners is brutal.”

“It was… a bad experience.  I’m sure you know how much they hate Nords.  But H—Sulu rescued me before the worst of it.”  Chekov turned and offered a not-quite smile, his eyes haunted. “That is another long story.”

“If Sulu was willing to challenge the Thalmor directly, he must have been very brave,” Uhura said, “or very determined to rescue you.”

Chekov blushed slightly, his smile growing genuine and warm.  “He is very brave. He does not even hesitate when faced with a dragon.”  He rubbed his hands along his arms, shivering lightly.  “They still frighten me.”

“Dragons, hm?” Uhura said.  She considered her next question very carefully.  “Spock did say you appear to be well-studied.  Have you included dragonlore among your research?”

“Oh, yes,” Chekov replied.  “I read everything in our library – er, the College of Winterhold’s library – soon after the dragons began to appear again.  I’d had my own encounter with one of them, and I wanted to be prepared.”

“Is that so,” Uhura murmured.  “You studied at the College?”

“I apprenticed there for five years,” Chekov said.

“You’re very fortunate to have had such a resource at your fingertips,” Uhura said.  “I assume you learned a great deal about the dragons.”

Chekov narrowed his eyes, as if sensing that there was more to her question than idle curiosity.  “As much as I could.”

It was a vague answer, and it frustrated her.  She and Spock had bypassed the College of Winterhold during their own investigation, as there were too many rumors of a Thalmor presence there.  She therefore had no idea what Chekov might have learned.  What if he had learned of the Elder Scroll’s location, its _importance,_ from the comfort of a magical library?  Uhura’s heart sank at the idea that these two perfectly nice young men might be their competitors – their adversaries – in retrieving the scroll. 

Spock, meanwhile, had finished healing Sulu, who sprang to his feet.  At full health, it was unquestionable that he was a fighter of some experience: his arms and shoulders were leanly muscled, his armor snug across a strong chest.  Now that Uhura had a better look at him, she realized he was only a few years older than Chekov.  He must have been a mere boy when he’d fought for Hammerfell.

“Thank you,” Sulu said to Spock and Uhura.  “For healing me, and for fighting off the Falmer who attacked us.  As I said before, I’m in your debt.”

“We both are,” Chekov added.

“But,” Sulu said firmly, “you said you’re here for scholarly purposes.  We are as well.  It seems… unavoidable to acknowledge that we might be here for the same reason.”

Like a soldier, he cut straight to the point.  Uhura smiled appreciatively.  “As I said before, we aren’t cutthroats, and you don’t seem to be either,” she said.  “If there’s a reason you’re seeking the Elder Scroll, I assume your reasons are benign, just as ours are.”

A long silence fell, during which Chekov and Sulu shared an absolutely bewildered look.

“The… _Elder Scroll?”_ Chekov squawked.

Uhura put a hand over her face, and privately cursed herself.  The minute Chekov had admitted to knowledge of dragonlore, it had seemed _so obvious…_ She didn’t even want to look at Spock.  He would be patient and generous with her, as he always was, but there was no question it had been a blunder.

Fortunately, Chekov kept talking.  “But - that cannot be,” he said.  “Elder Scrolls are – they are _mythical._ Lost to time, and they cannot be retrieved by men unless the gods will it.  How can you possibly think you can find one?”

“Perhaps the gods have willed us to.  After all, our investigation has led us here,” Spock said calmly.  He tilted his head.  “Since you are so skeptical of the Elder Scroll’s existence, may we presume you are here for a different purpose?”  

Sulu still looked a little dumbfounded.  “Well, yes,” he said.  “We’re here because this is the alchemist Sinderion’s last known location.  Didn’t you know that?”

This time it was Spock and Uhura’s turn to share a puzzled look. 

“Sinderion?” Uhura asked.  The name sounded a little familiar, but she had been so focused on dragonlore for the last year that she could not recall anything of significance.

“Yes, Sinderion,” Sulu said, looking as if the question slightly insulted him.

“Sinderion was an Altmer alchemist,” Spock said. “He was one of the discipline’s great masters, but he mysteriously disappeared more than a century ago. I confess that potion-making is not one of my fields of interest, but if I recall correctly, Sinderion was especially renowned for his experiments with the properties of nirnroot.”

“He actually figured out how to _cultivate_ it,” Sulu cut in, and it was strange to see this hardened fighter all but bounce on his feet with excitement.  “He may have even located a source of _crimson_ nirnroot, and I don’t have to tell you how rare that is.”

Chekov pressed down on a fond smile, and added: “He loves plants.”

Sulu caught himself, and calmed slightly.  “My sister runs an alchemy shop in the Imperial City,” he said.  “She received a tip that Sinderion may have come here to Skyrim.  We did some investigating, and we think he came through Alftand.”

“So it is _your_ scholarly interest that has brought you here,” Spock said to Sulu.  “Fascinating.”

“Oh, did you think it was me?” Chekov said cheerfully.  “No, I also find alchemy boring.  But I have never been inside Dwemer ruins before.  I am taking notes, and I would like to write a book one day.”

Before she could stop herself, a laugh bubbled out of Uhura’s throat.  It was followed by another and another, until she was laughing uncontrollably.  She was nearly bent double, and her stomach hurt. 

“Nyota?” Spock asked gently.  “Their quest is of sound historical and intellectual merit, if I may say so.”

“It is.  I know.”  Uhura laughed again, wiping at her eyes.  “I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry.  It’s just that we’ve been looking for the cause of the dragon attacks for months, and it’s been – so full of terrible people.  I don’t know what I thought you were going to turn out to be.  Thieves? Daedra cultists? The Dark Brotherhood in disguise?   And instead you’ve turned out to be on a quest that’s just so… _good_ , and admirable." Uhura looked up, her eyes still shining with tears. “Chekov, I think you’re going to write a wonderful chronicle of Dwemer ruins.  And–” she glanced at Spock.  “Unless Spock has any objections, we would be delighted to travel with you as long as our paths coincide.  If you would accept that, of course.”

Sulu and Chekov again looked at each other, and after a moment, Sulu nodded.   “Clearly, strength in numbers can’t hurt in these ruins,” he said. 

“I agree.  From what we witnessed earlier, you are capable in combat.  These ruins will unquestionably test those capabilities,” Spock said.  Then he frowned.  “But there is still something I do not understand.  It is most curious that your sources identified this as Sinderion’s last known location.  These ruins are made entirely of stone, and would seem to hold little value for an alchemist.”

“You are scholars, and you do not know?” Chekov said curiously.  “Alftand holds one of the entrances to Fal’Zhardum Din, the legendary underground settlement of the Dwemer.  _Blackreach,_ in our language.”

“Blackreach…” Uhura breathed, her laughter immediately dying away.  The enormous Dwemer stronghold, built in a cavern so deep underground it had been all but lost to history.  “There’s only one known account of it, and that scholar never divulged how she accessed it.  How can you be sure Alftand is a way in?”

“Well, this is why it pays to be interested in plants,” Sulu said, with a little smile.  “In our investigation, we discovered Sinderion had left notes detailing the entry into Blackreach.  P—Chekov was able to cross-reference Sinderion’s notes with other books on the Dwarves' civilization.  We’re quite certain it’s possible.” 

“You see?” Chekov said, with an impish look.  “We will be able to repay you for helping us even more quickly than you think.”

“You already have just by telling us this,” Spock said.  “Nyota, you must know what this means.”

“Yes,” Uhura responded excitedly.  “Blackreach is almost certainly where the Dwemer would have kept as rare an object as an Elder Scroll.  Unbelievable!  Blackreach itself…”

If she had been excited at the prospect of holding an Elder Scroll, it was nothing compared to the possibility of exploring such a legendary Dwemer settlement.  She looked to Spock, suddenly more grateful than ever that she had met him, that he had delighted in her intellectual curiosity and encouraged it from her very first magic lesson with him, that she had defied her parents to go journeying with him.  Had Uhura remained in Sentinel, she _never_ would have had such an opportunity.

As difficult and dangerous as the journey had been to get here, she suddenly could not have been more grateful for it.

Spock had gone to peer over the edge of the platform, examining the path down.  Meanwhile, Chekov had turned to Sulu, examining him to make sure his injuries had fully healed, and quietly scolding him to be more careful. Fear and anxiety were plain to hear in his voice, and indeed, Sulu accepted his lecture with a patient smile.

Uhura buried a smile of her own, and then moved to stand alongside Spock. “You had better not even think of falling off one of these things either,” she said.

Before Spock could stop himself, a flash of amusement came to his face.  “I assure you I have no intention of it.”

“Spock,” she murmured.  “I… am sorry for my outburst before.”

Spock turned to her, and rested a gentle hand at her back.  “Nyota,” he said.  “Do not apologize.  Our journey has indeed been long and difficult.”  He leaned in, nudging aside her mage hood, and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “It has been an irreplaceable source of strength to have you at my side.”

Sulu and Chekov had stopped their conversation, and were looking toward them curiously.  Spock pulled away, while Uhura cleared her throat and straightened up. 

“Let’s keep going,” she said, and together, the newfound allies set out on their quest.

=end=


End file.
